Vae Victus
by Abyssopelagic
Summary: He never had any intention of crossing paths with those who have power. But a ten-year-old boy cannot cross a violent, willful general and his legions. It is fortunate that Seto is equally willful.


Seto did not believe in gods.

From plain observation, he seemed dutiful, and every festival day (of which the citizens had many) he and his brother would lay down their gift on the temple steps. A basket of fruit, a bowl of sweet wine. A laurel wreath, if Seto was feeling particularly pious. It was vital to his safety that he appear pious.

Mokuba always bowed his head, whispering to Jupiter the prayers of good fortune and might for their city.

Seto mouthed along with him, because someone was always watching, but he could not imagine that their whispers were reaching the giant, translucent ears of spirits. The Greeks said the great gods lived on a mountaintop, where they could observe their mortal subjects most carefully, but Seto

"Do you think they heard me?" Mokuba would ask later, clutching at Seto's fingers.

His answer was always the same. "Of course they heard you, little brother."

Mokuba would smile with relief, and Seto would squeeze his hand.

* * *

They were taken in, and torn from, when they were three and eight, respectively. There was no orphanage for the Roman wealthy. In any case, children of the brothers' fine lineage would never have been turned out onto the street and made into a loss.

At least, that is what Seto was told. He soon learned that his pure, ancient bloodline was valued only by how much money came with them as inheritance.

It was soon squirreled away or squandered by the family they were shifted to, until Seto had nothing but their chests of clothes and the _bulla _pendants meant to ward off childrens' bad fortune. They would see if he threw those away, of course, but he couldn't help but think how useless they were, circles of bronze that sat at their throats and had done nothing to protect their father in life, or what he'd left his two sons in death.

Their new family – a term others insisted on, and something Seto detested – mostly ignored him and Mokuba. This was fine by him, because nobody else knew Mokuba's exact needs as well as he did anyway. They ate and slept in the villa of the Antonii, but they rarely spoke to the family themselves, who only provided them with what was expected. They stayed in their room, and Seto taught his brother how to read.

People tittered about him, and his lack of concern for their future. What future? Seto thought in response. They had no money and no power. There was no future in Rome without those things.

So he put his faith in books, and in Mokuba, at the very least, growing up healthy.

* * *

When Seto was ten, Gozaburo Kaiba returned to the city.

It was a Triumph, the decadent, colourful celebration that followed the victories of great generals. Though Seto could see nothing glorious about the man riding in the procession's middle; his eyes were small and set too close together, his stomach formed a round swell under his toga. The red paint on his face, meant to imitate the great god Jupiter, failed to mask his cold normality.

Maybe he would have been more impressive to Seto had his countenance been kinder, or at least neutral and dignified. He couldn't make out cruelty, exactly, not from here, but the general did not seem at all warm. In fact, he seemed entirely careless of his position.

Seto, having no position at all, abhorred such indifference.

He wanted to cover Mokuba's eyes when they brought up the Gallic king, the defeated enemy, and slid the noose around his neck, but his brother saw anyway and sobbed aloud when they tightened the rope. The man's death throes were violent and long, and his brother's eyes were wide with terror. Seto hugged him tightly and let him bury his face in his side.

He wondered if he could ever string up a man by the throat, even if the rules of war had given him the right.

Gozaburo stepped down from the platform and walked past the seats of the nobility. He greeted the prominent senators with smiles and clasping of hands. When he got to the Antonii, his eyes lingered on Seto. He felt himself contract inward, uncomfortable. He pulled Mokuba more closely to him.

He refused to feel afraid.

"You're not an Antonii." Gozaburo's yes narrowed a fraction. Seto shook his head.

"Only under their care."

He purposefully left out all titles, even on the day of Triumph, but his tone was reserved and not at all impolite. This politeness-but-not enraged most grown-ups.

Gozaburo grunted. "You look like my dead son. His mother must have had relations in your family."

Mokuba stared at him with wide eyes. Gozaburo gave him a snarl, and he squeaked, pressing his face into Seto's side again.

He left after that, continuing down the line, which Seto was grateful for. He kissed the top of Mokuba's head and gently shushed him.

"We'll be home soon. We'll read about Daedalus and Icarus and their wings before bed, okay?"

A girl sitting nearby gave him an odd look, and Seto was aware of the difference in how he presented to the rest of the world, and how he must appear to his baby brother. But there was only one human on the earth that Seto loved. Why shouldn't he treat him differently?

They got home much later than he had promised, after excessive feasting and drinking by the senators, too late for his brother to stay up and read. Mokuba didn't comment, dragging his feet coming back to the villa along with drooping eyelids. Seto put him to bed, then picked up one of his scrolls.

_"In that direction  
from which the swarm has come I see a stranger  
approaching and an army nearing us..."_

His eyes itched with tiredness and he found it hard to continue down the page, those same three lines twisting inside his head.

* * *

To Seto's dismay, Gozaburo began to visit with the Antonii. At least he learned from him, of the politics outside the nobles' compounds, of the rise and fall of prices. Of the sickness that was sweeping through the coastal towns.

He would sit in the garden with Antonius, and Seto would have to stand close by, taking in to the conversation they assumed he didn't understand.

They were wrong, of course, because not only did Seto know about the Senate's cutthroat politics, but he knew enough Greek to follow their conversations. Frankly, he was amazed that boors like these men knew the language of intellectuals at all. It had come easily to Seto as he trudged through the _Iliad _and listened to their visitors' chatter. He learned languages like they were simple melodies.

"...You're exactly the bloodline I needed behind me," Gozaburo said, on his fourth cup of wine. "I'm sure I can wrangle another consulship, and we'll just see about what that fool Pompey has to say about it."

"Of course," said Antonius, wiping his mouth on his wrist. "When you calm the Senators' clamour they'll see who the powerhouse is. My support will seem like I'm just a useful figurehead from here – but they haven't met my legions."

Seto's face reddened with anger at talk like this. The Senate House was already a breeding ground for political disease, and a new, more malicious sort had broken out there now that Gozaburo had come home from the wars. Private legions and grudges should have nothing to do with government. It only made life more dangerous.

"They've gotten lazy in my eight years away," Gozaburo mused. "I look forward to fixing it."

"There's a plague at the port," Seto said suddenly.

The two men looked up at him. Seto stared back, his eyebrows raised delicately.

"Pardon me?" said Antonius.

Seto exhaled sharply, immediately regretting that he had spoken up. But something had pressed on his mind, some urge to annoy and take by surprise these two stupid old men. It was wicked of him, but the urge to be _right _swiftly outdid any misgivings.

"There's a plague at the port," he said again, in the same careful Greek. "It's caused many deaths among the people, and is affecting commerce and distribution of food. Perhaps re-organizing the city's resources until the tragedy has passed would be wiser counsel for the Senators."

"Nobody taught you Greek," Antonius said sharply, stumbling over his words in surprise.

Gozaburo was still watching Seto, the small sharp eyes digging at his face.

"So you're interested in politics, then?" he asked Seto in a low voice, one that Seto right away marked as deadly. "And you think you know about _wiser council _for your elders and betters?"

Seto's eyes narrowed, and he straightened his back.

"I just showed you that I learned Greek by myself, general. Government is just about the same to figure out."

Antonius' mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. Seto was suddenly aware that he had never said more than ten or twelve words to anyone in the house of the Antonii, besides his brother.

Gozaburo reached out and slapped Seto on the cheek.

It took a lot of strength and much gritting of his teeth to straighten back up and keep watching him. His face stung from being slashed by those thick ringed fingers, but Seto's eyes still glittered with his small victory. He was frightened, but he had long ago learned to flatten his feelings underneath a cool mask.

Gozaburo had never learned that. He looked at Seto too angrily.

"You will not speak so insolently again."

Seto nodded. "Yes, general."

Gozaburo settled back into his chair, his arms folded over his ample stomach. "You won't call me 'general' here. I go by my family title. Caesar. You will address me as such."

"Yes."

The two men waited. Seto let seconds pass. One, two, three, four.

"Caesar."

Gozaburo – Caesar – nodded, though his eyebrows furrowed angrily at the middle. "You may go. Stay with that brother of yours for the rest of the day and the night. Meals will be brought."

Antonius looked like he wanted to sputter some more, and design his own punishment, but it was clear to Seto who now ruled this household. Who ruled all households on the Palatine Hill, now that he was no longer a distant figure tucked away between mountains and armies.

The dread didn't sink deep into his stomach until he was well away from the old men. The distant figure now had _him _under his thumb, too. And this new kind of fear could not be explained.

* * *

Seto had never been concerned about spies, as every grown man on the Palatine seemed to be. He was worth nothing – the money they had come with having long disappeared – and he was used to appearing unremarkable. There was no reason to follow his or Mokuba's movements. He had appreciated the freedom to be left to himself.

He became more careful after encountering Gozaburo. He found that he was right to, because suddenly new slaves and attendants were in abundance on the grounds. It made Antonius' lips thin, and gave Seto anxious, twisting stomachaches. New slaves were the only ones who gave the boys meals or clothes.

Mokuba asked why they didn't go for walks anymore.

"I'm bored, Seto," he'd whine, tugging at his brother's wrist. "My legs hurt because I'm not using them!"

Five-year-olds knew nothing of intrigue. Seto wished he knew nothing as well, clenching his hands into fists and shutting his eyes. They didn't go on another walk.

* * *

A man he didn't recognize came into their room and told him to pack. It was not a slave, but a Senator, and this made Seto pay attention. He wore the white toga with red border, and had nervous eyes, like he wanted nobody looking into them and seeing his soul.

"You are moving to the villa of Caesar. Be ready by tonight."

Seto did not reply. He only stared, for several more long moments after the slave left the room again, wondering how Gozaburo had kept such a keen interest in him. He should never have spoken up, because now the knot of fear had settled into his stomach again, as if he had swallowed a sharp rock and could never bring it back up.

He had Mokuba set down his toy soldiers and help him pack their possessions. Soft linen tunics, _toga praetextas_, the books he knew the Antonii wouldn't miss.

Mokuba was cheerful about it, not connecting the frightening man from the triumph to the Gozaburo that they would apparently be living with.

"Maybe they'll talk to us," he told Seto, setting a small wooden horse he'd been given under his folded clothes. "Don't be scared, Seto, maybe now you'll have a future, and you've always wanted one of those, right?"

Seto could not reply. He stared out the window instead, at the neat rows of peach trees that sat outside their window.

The man came back when the sun had gone down, and raised his eyebrows when he saw two packed chests.

"Didn't you hear Caesar's orders?" His tone wasn't mocking, but Mokuba clung to Seto's arm anyway. "I said _you _are moving to his villa. Not your brother. He will stay."

Seto had been afraid of Gozaburo, but this cold, sickening _terror _in regard to any prospect at all was new to him. _Nobody else _understood Mokuba, could take care of him the way Seto did, and always had.

Next to him, Mokuba gulped down a sob in a failed attempt to hide his own fear. Seto's eyes narrowed. He dropped back onto the bed and stared at his abductor.

"Then I'm afraid Caesar is not getting me." His fingers found Mokuba's and gave them a quick squeeze. "I'm sorry, Senator, but I would not live anywhere unless my brother could come with me. If he can't then I suppose I won't be able to go."

The trouble that was certainly going to follow this defiance was pushed aside, and worth it, when he glanced sidelong and saw Mokuba's eyes shining at him.

The man said nothing more for a moment, his sharp gaze looking Seto up and down. He knew he was not a remarkable picture – a skinny, pale-faced boy in a threadbare white tunic, sporting fingernails ragged from chewing. His brother, undersized beneath a mess of black hair, was no more impressive.

This only made triumph rise up in his chest. Gozaburo would not expect such bad manners from such a meek, studious child.

"Very well." The man turned on his heel and left, leaving Seto and Mokuba alone again with their packed trunks. Seto pulled his brother into his lap, silent and surprised. He had expected a fight here and now, with dragging and screaming and kicking.

There would be hell to pay _later_, and it would mar his small victories. Word would get around of his insolence.

He decided that no matter what, he didn't care.

* * *

At some point Seto fell asleep, sideways on the bed with Mokuba curled up next to him. He woke again in the evening, listening to the sounds of birds and his brother's soft breathing.

He opened his eyes; the light had waned just enough to know that the sun had finished setting, but that nighttime had not quite settled over Rome. It was a dusky, slow time of day that Seto usually liked.

Heavy, quick footsteps in their hallway made him lift his head; he sat straight up just as the door flew open, pulling a bleary-eyed, sleepy Mokuba up with him.

The man from before stood just behind Gozaburo Kaiba, whose figure filled their doorway.

"I see you're all packed," he said. His voice made Seto shiver. "Though your brother's trunk was a waste of time. Caesar is graciously offering you one more chance, Seto. Come along."

"No."

Seto narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. Mokuba was pressed against him, and he could feel the both of their muscles, coiled tensed as springs.

"I told your friend there this already. I am obligated to look after my younger brother and I will not leave him." He stood up, because his legs dangled off the high bed and he needed his feet planted firm on the tiles. "You will leave me alone or you will take my brother as well."

Seto's voice barely quavered, for which he was grateful. One day, he would look Gozaburo in the eyes and speak with the same fierceness.

Gozaburo strode forward and grabbed him by the collar. Seto stumbled, but he set his feet apart and made a valiant effort to stay put.

"Let me put it this way, Seto - if I tell you to jump, _you jump!" _he roared. "Caesar's orders are your actions! Leave your brother behind, he's nothing to me! Isono, grab his trunk and -"

Seto didn't hear the rest of what he said, with the sound of Mokuba screaming his name and the pulse of blood in his ears. He was no longer afraid, at least. He was _furious._

He dug his nails into Gozaburo's arm, digging in so hard that Gozaburo had to let go and give Seto a chance to stagger back. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes flashing like a caged animal's.

"Exactly, then," he said softly. "He is nothing to you, so what does it matter whether or not he's in your house? He'll be out of your way, and I have no doubt Caesar can afford to feed one other small boy." His eyes hardened. "Of course, if you insist on having me without Mokuba, then I will entirely useless to you."

Silence.

Gozaburo folded his arms, bearing down on them as Seto put one arm around his brother. "Useless, you say? When you don't even know what I want you for?"

"I will lie on my bed and waste away, knowing that my purpose in life – my brother's well-being – has been wrenched from me. No matter why you want me, or what you do to me. Nothing you can do will make me move."

He had never been more sure that he meant something.

Seto and Gozaburo stared each other down for several minutes, Seto feeling more and more closed in by the walls of their small, plain room. He had to win. There was no escaping, though he longed to, and when had Seto ever run from his problems anyway?

It was Isono, the senator, who spoke up next.

"I believe, Caesar, that he's not going back on his word." Isono's gaze passed over the brothers – Seto was far too wound up to notice that his eyes lacked malevolence. If anything, they held a kind of dark humour, meant maybe to placate Seto in this equally dark game. "It makes you angry, but willpower and truth are priceless in a city that has none. You are honest, Caesar, are you not?"

Seto thought Gozaburo was going to strike him again, even harder than he had that day with Antonius.

But he straightened himself up instead, eyes dark as he adjusted his _toga virilis _around his shoulders.

"Your brother will _remain _nothing," he growled. Seto had to blink several times to keep his eyes from widening noticeably. "I will feed him and give him room, but everything else – _everything –_ is up to you. I am Caesar, I am _paterfamilias. _My word is law. Obey that word and his life will be consistent." He waved his hand, making for the door. "Now come."

Seto had no choice now. Giving Mokuba a meaningful tug on his arm, they jumped down from the bed and followed Gozaburo.

Dread rolled back into his stomach, like when the new slaves had suddenly appeared. He had just played a very dangerous game, and while the prize was his greatest treasure, the cost of it would be very painful.

He remembered what Gozaburo had said at the Triumph, as they left the villa for the last time. _You look like my dead son. _He wondered what being a son of Caesar entailed.

Whatever it was, he doubted he would like it.

* * *

_A/N: The quotation used when Seto is reading is an excerpt from Virgil's _Aeneid. _The title is a Latin phrase meaning "woe to the conquered."_

_I've seen a strange and strong resemblance between Augustus, Rome's first emperor, and our very own Seto Kaiba. I think I'll deliberate further on those connections in the second part of this piece, which will focus on Seto's life under Gozaburo and the end result. It will probably be longer than this. Thank you for reading!_


End file.
